Naekkeo. That is what he called her. Thena, naekkeo. The brass and depth of his voice made the word ring true. Words of affection seemed different when Gilgamesh said them. It was as if they were more secure when spoken in his powerful voice. Naekkeo. Mine. But not just mine, but the understanding that she was his before and after everything. When there was nothing and everything, creation and destruction, beginning and end, tumult and peace, worry and anger, there was more than this: Naekkeo.

It isn't love after that. It's not something that can be shown in marriage (despite their wedding bands several times over), it's not something that fades or withers, and sometimes it is hardly a feeling that can be known clearly. Sometimes, it is so silent and so rarely known that it is undetectable, and only exists in the motions and movements of bodies beside one another in warm beds over the course of thousands of years. The way they loved each other went beyond all words or knowledge or understanding. Thena, naekkeo. Simultaneously so simple, but all the same not at all.

How do you move on with your life after that kind of love? How do you move on from someone that you loved for 7000 years?

"What do you miss most about him?" Makkari, clad in her worn red leather jacket, had unknowingly zipped up behind her older sister. Her presence was suddenly close and warm beside the golden-haired goddess. "I miss that little dance he would do when he would cook things. He'd really get those hips going." Makkari smiled at the memory of her brother.

Instead of responding, Thena's eyes looked over the red-crusted landscape of the Australian outback. Crimson dust swirled from gusts of powerful hot winds as they coasted across the empty plains and caverns. There was very little greenery in this vast place. In fact, except for the gardens that Gil upkept behind their single-storied stone house, there was rarely any other fauna that grew in the harsh and dry heat of the outback. To an eternal, the heat was hardly an issue, more of a nuisance than anything else.

There's something beautiful in it, Thena had told Gilgamesh nearly a century before when they first settled here. I can feel the Earth move beneath my fingers. She placed her palm onto the red soil, settling her fingertips atop the course grain and rocks beneath her touch. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of this planet's sun sink into her bones. A steadiness lurked in this dry and harsh desert, to all others the heat felt condemning, but to Thena it simply felt quiet. A million years of life had existed in this land of dryness and arid heat, and she could feel it all.

Sure, hon. Gil smirked at her as glanced down at his wife. He shifted a large leather trunk over his shoulder so he could ruffle her hair as she caressed the ground. It's hot as shit, but sure, sooo beautiful. He waved his hand dramatically over the dry climate with a chuckle. His laughter. Even the brief and teasing ones, a chuckle, a snicker, or a smiling belly-shaking cackle, felt like the sunshine that settled into her bone marrow from the blazing Australian sun above. It warmed her and steadied her.

His laughter. That's what she missed. Not the most, but in this moment, here and now, she missed his laughter. More than anything.

"Thena?" Makkari cocked her head with concern as her soft brown eyes peered into the other woman's face. "You okay?"

Thena swallowed. Her eyes flicked over to her sister's. "I'm fine." She told her softly with a ghostly hint of a smile. "Just thinking." She used to be funnier. Clever. If this was the old days, perhaps she would've teased Makkari or given her a goofy smirk to lighten the mood. After all, the speedster was her little sister. Little siblings, as Sprite was more than familiar with, always got the short end of the stick when it came to teasing.

Wasn't that what she used to do?

Or maybe she just imagined she used to.

Gilgamesh would have told her. He would've remembered a time or place when she was funny and clever, or silly and charming, or masterful and powerful. Naekkeo, you tricked that angry sowing lady into being a spider. She smiled to herself then, thinking about Gilgamesh recounting their time in ancient Greece.

No, darling, you're getting it wrong. It was not a trick. She was just a real bitch, who lost a proper weaving contest, and she happened to be named after a spider.

Oh, yeah, I knew that.

"Thena," Makkari began, gently touching her sister's shoulder. Pulled out of her reverie once more, the goddess of war turned to meet her sister's eyes. "Phastos has been searching for a sign of Ikaris."

The lines of tension on Thena's face became taut with anger. "Why? Didn't his flight into the Sun seem like a proper end?" She snapped at the younger goddess. A sound between a hiss and a threat. Her eyes glowed with power. Something gold and false lurked in the bone structure of her cheeks. A rage of voices and memories clashed inside of her. She closed her eyes as she pressed a hand against her forehead. Remember, Thena. Remember.

With a hard swallow, she pulled herself from the edge of the voices, feeling as if she was teetering on the edge of some flimsy grasp of sanity. Makkari was searching her expression, seemingly picking up on the anxiety that was settling into her features. "Makkari, I'm fine. Has Phastos found something?"

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" Makarri asked as a soft, but gentle expression came across her girlish features. Makarri had that soft, sweet face that made it hard to remain in the slightest bit angry with her. It was that sweeter than sugar expression on her face then that made Druig coin the nickname "cakes" in 7th Century Persia. Persia, of course, was the first city that harvested sugar cane and mixed it in with their test cake dough. A favorite snack of Druig's, he affectionately went on to dub Makkari after the sweet treat. Cakes, he would call her in that familiar deep Irish brogue, do ya' know just how sweet ya' are?

"No, my love. I'm not staying here. I just…" Thena turned to look back over the distant plains of the desert. Her gaze searched for something that no longer existed. "I came back to get his things." She sniffed and took a shaky breath to compose herself. "You came here for a reason, yes?"

Makkari seemed hesitant to go on, but she did nonetheless. "Phastos thinks he found Ikaris."

"Ah, so he had Gilgamesh killed, tried to kill all of us and everyone on Earth, and then thought he would live afterwards, hm?" Thena asked sharply with a smile as a golden twitch behind of her eyebrow showed the Mahd Wy'ry in full effect. Her hands shook as she wrapped them around the skirts of her dress. Her vision blurred at the edges as golden and soft tentacles wrapped around at the sides of her reality.

The vision changed.

She was no longer there.

Gilgamesh stood beside her. They were no longer in the arid Australian desert, but on the side of a cliff face in Munster during 1607. He pulled her close, lips fitting to the contour of her ear as she buried her face in his neck. "Saranghae, Thena." I love you. "And I love you, my darling." She whispered to him, lips softly pressing against his neck.

THENA.

A flash of a desert severed through her memory. Makkari. My sister? Why…? Why is she…? THENA. Hands wrapping around her shoulders.

"We could get married again if you wanted." Gil teased as he squeezed her closer to him. "It would be the sixth time."

She chuckled at his suggestion. "Why do we need to get married again?"

"Sex is always better after we get married." He shrugged, looking down at her with a wily, but earnest smirk forming over his features. "Why do you think I've asked you so many times?"

Thena snorted as a surprised cackle escaped her. She wrapped her arms around him, tucking herself into the soft and gaping spaces between them. "You're worse than Kingo, you know that?" She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand, turning his face to look down at her expression.

Their eyes met then as they had for thousands upon thousands of years. The smirk faded on his face into the softest smile. His cheeks, cuppy and round, lifted with that smile. His eyes gittered with all of the unnamable things of the universe. The very same stuff that rose up in Thena's chest as she looked at him. "Naekkeo," he whispered to her. "There's something I have to tell you—"

THENA. THENA WAKE UP.

Thena opened her eyes as the clouded glaze cleared over her irises. The golden glowing markings of her mind gone mad faded from her face as she took a sharp breath in to settle herself. Tears nervously glittered in her eyes. She looked down at her hands that were wrapped around a sharp arch of cosmic energy that pressed into Makkari's neck. The goddess of speed and thievery met her sister's newly clear-eyed gaze.

"Thena." She signed gently with slow and steady hand movements as she reached for the weapon with her other hand. "Thena, we don't know if he's alive," she shifted Thena's sharp cosmic knife from her neck, "but his body's out in space."

Shaky and disoriented, Thena pulled away from her younger sister. She sunk to the ground, pushing her legs out in front of her as she buried her face in her hands. Makkari's sweet dark eyes made her feel sick to her stomach. The concern and the care. The probing and the searching. Everyone was always trying to look into her soul, feel for the madness. Gilgamesh never probed or poked. He just was there. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her close.

And, well, when necessary, sometimes he fought her to the verge of sanity. After all, things were not all gentle kisses and touches when dealing with Mahd Wy'ry. It pulled all her skill and lethal instinct of the warrior goddess outside of the actual warrior. It divided her uncleanly in half, made her split apart in thousands of pieces, all of them jagged and sharp. She was a sleeping goddess unaware of her own intention to kill.

But the thought of Ikaris being alive… It made her feel unstable in the worst of ways. If he was alive, while Gil was dead… The memory of Gil's body, greyed, limp, and void of his powerful warmth, filled Thena with another overwhelming wave of sickness. She felt bile bubble in the back of her throat as she steadied herself onto the red soil. She dug her nails into the red earth, tugging into it sharply to remind herself of the dry desert around her. This is reality.

This IS reality.

The feel of the dry hot air kissed her skin. The sound of a vulture cried in the distance. The wind moaning through the dried trees beside her former stone home. The feel of the sand and microscopic stones burying themselves into her nails. The way her hair moved against her cheeks. A tear was making its path down the bones of her face. There's an ocean behind your eyes, Thena, and one day it will drown you. His voice whispered to her. Remember, Thena.

You have to. You have to. For him.

Thena took another sharp breath in. "Where is he?" She asked Makkari, her head turned over her shoulder.

There had been a sudden shift in Thena's face then, Makkari noticed. The murky grief that lingered in her expression had changed into something so much clearer. A thick and heavy force greeted this new expression dawning on the war goddess' face. Or perhaps it wasn't new. Perhaps, more accurately, the younger sister had simply forgotten the face of Thena, Goddess of War and Knowledge. Powerful brown eyes glowed with focus and untold fury. She was all-sound and all-knowing. Mad and sane at the same time. Beauty and vengeance in one expression.

"We don't know if he's alive, sister." She advised Thena.

"I don't care." She snapped. She pulled herself to her feet. Her teeth gritted as she gave a little shake of her head. "If he's not dead already, I'll make sure he is."

1607 – Munster, Ireland

Ikaris landed softly on the ground of Munster, Ireland. A few meters away, a small thatched-roofed cottage overlooked the sharp, jagged Cliffs of Moher. Even from this distance, he could hear the sound of the violent waves of the Galway Bay as they crashed and collided with the base of the ancient cliffs. Looking around to make sure he hadn't been seen, he quietly began to make his way up the winding path towards the thatched cottage.

Gilgamesh and Thena had settled in the unusual place of Munster. A particularly violent province of war and shipwrecks. Very fitting, of course, for the likes of a war goddess and a poeticized epic warrior.

He did have to admit, however, the landscape was beautiful. Despite the sodden, overcast, and seemingly constant drizzle, the grass beneath his boots was practically bright green due to the abundant moisture. While rare, frail flowers still managed to sprout up alongside the makeshift trail. One of them caught his eye as he bent down to study it. Scilla verna, or as it was often called, spring squill. A pale lavender flower that thrived in places of humid, coastal climates. It had four stretching limbs that pulled themselves from the center of its bud, as if reaching for the hidden sun that was blanketed and covered by the layer of clouds. He gently fingered the flower's bud between his index and middle finger, tracing the petals with his thumb.

Sersi's favorite, so to speak. Except it wasn't. She said that about every flower. Every tree. Every animal. He frowned. Terse and serious lines formed across his face. That was Sersi, wasn't it? She loved everything about this frail human world, even to the point where wasn't quite sure what she loved most. It had been nearly a century since he saw her. He hadn't even said goodbye. The truth was hardly as sinister as one may believe, or perhaps it was. Cowards are either malevolent or pests. Perhaps he was both. He just couldn't say goodbye to Sersi just as he couldn't lie to her.

With a dignified sniff, he pulled himself from the blooming spring flowers. He'd left her a century ago. That part of his life was over. Without another look back, he walked the rest of the way to the thatched cottage. Before he even got to the door, however, he could smell the umami scent of something thick, meaty, and hearty. Then, as he raised his knuckles to knock, he could hear an insufferable humming from behind the cottage.

A small, but knowing smile pulled at his lips. Of course, why would he think any different? He walked around behind the thatched home and found Gil, taller than a bloody tree and stronger than Zeus, happily stirring a roasted pig leg into a large cauldron of stew. He was humming some local Irish melody, while very clearly jigging around the steaming hot iron cauldron, only to stop and stir every few moments. Ikaris could only stare at his older brother as he unknowingly continued his happy cooking dance.

"Uh, Gil…?" Ikaris finally spoke up, scratching the back of his neck.

Gilgamesh froze immediately. He slowly moved his head so his eyes met Ikaris'. "How much of that did you see?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." The younger brother teased. His cheeks, however, blossoming pink from second-hand embarrassment were not as good as liars as his tongue.

"If you tell anyone about this, fly boy, I'll throw you into the sun, got it?" As if it would somehow make him seem threatening, he shoved his pointer finger directly into Ikaris' face. His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head with an intent to obviously intimidate. This, however, had no effect as Ikaris started laughing.

The younger god held up his hands in surrender. "Pax, frater." He teased, reaching over to squeeze Gil's shoulder. "I quite liked whatever, uhm, that was."

"Yeah, it's a good song, alright? Not that you would know what good taste is." He stirred his stew a few more times before he dried his hands on the cloth hanging over the pot. "Are you stayin' for dinner or what?" He asked sharply as he began to walk back towards the house.

Ikaris chuckled, but his smile had subsided some. His usual seriousness bloomed across his face as it yawned over his momentary joy. Joy did not live long on Ikaris' face. "I wasn't plannin' on it, Gil."

Gilgamesh opened the door just then to reveal the cottage's interior. It was quite comfortable for such a small space. A bit cramped, but warm with the large fireplace softly crackling sweet smelling smoke into the home. There were herbs of all kinds hanging from the woven ceiling, while cookbooks and rare recipes were stacked on top of each other in looming dusty piles. Gilgamesh may have been a fearsome warrior, but he was baker first given that this was his common lifestyle across several thousand years.

A little distance from the fireplace, Thena lay sleeping on a thinly upholstered piece of furniture, which hardly looked comfortable at first, but Gilgamesh had made it so. With feather-stuffed pillows and wool blankets, he had made it into a makeshift, but sturdy bed. Gilgamesh walked over to her, pausing to lean down and kiss her temple.

Ikaris looked away from Gil's sweet show of affection, feeling as if something inside of him was stuffed and suffered at the image. If he looked too long, he might think of her. Her touch… Her kiss— "Gil, I was hopin' we could talk." He remarked, visibly uncomfortable. The lines on his face twitched and clenched in tight anxiety.

The older eternal brushed his fingertips over Thena's cheek before removing his hand a bit reluctantly. He released a tired sigh at Ikaris' request. "If you want to know about Sersi, you should just write to her Ikaris. Stop coming to us."

"I'm not here about Sersi. I'm here because of Thanos."

For the second time that day, in the span of twenty minutes, Gilgamesh froze. This time, there was no teasing jibe or mock threat that followed. A dark expression grew across his brother's expression. For as large as he was, Gilgamesh was quick, crossing the room in seconds. He grabbed hold of Ikaris' elbow tightly, harshly even, and yanked him out of the cottage. Ikaris stumbled out onto the sodden ground, reeling from Gil's force.

"You do not say that name." Gilgamesh snapped at Ikaris. His eyes sharpened as they narrowed in on his younger brother. Anger took hold of every facial feature in his expression. Rage moved Gilgamesh, incarnated the entirety of his expression until nothing on his face was anything other than rage. He was not the brother who threatened or pushed or demanded. He was not manipulative like Druig or strident like Kingo. He didn't need to be as smart as Phastos nor as wise as Ajak. Gilgamesh was not the storyteller like Sprite or the warrior like Thena. He wasn't gentle and charming like Sersi.

But he was the protector. And that woman, in that house, sleeping peacefully for the first time in ten days, was the one person he had sworn to protect forever. His wife, his friend, his lover, his partner, his soulmate. Whatever label was necessary. She was it. And Ikaris had crossed the one line Gilgamesh had: Thena.

Ikaris, his little brother, the one who believed he carried the Sun in the palm of his hands, the one who grew wings in the paintings of angels, the one who shot gold from his eyes, and came with the storied name. Ikaris. "You come to my house, namdongsaeng, and say that name you better have a damn good reason." Gilgamesh asserted as he stepped closer to Ikaris. His fists curled as cosmic gold flickered around his wrists. A sure sign that his cosmic gloves, a gift of Arishem and his infinite power, were always present, even when he couldn't seem them.

"It isn't without intention, Gil." Ikaris said softly, bright blue eyes shifting to his older brother's. "He's plannin' something."

"And how do you know that?" Gil snapped at him, waving his hand out towards the crashing Galway Bay. The sound of the waves drowning out whatever harshness his voice contained. "He was exiled from Titan for a reason." He added. His dark brown eyes gave Ikaris a pointed look.

Ikaris paused at Gil's question. He bit his lip as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his britches. His expression saturnine and bitter as if a bee had stung him right on the ass. Druig and Gil used to make fun of that expression on Ikaris' face since he looked like he was absolutely devastated by something invisible, while seemingly pouting about nothing at the same time. Typical Ikaris. His problems were apparently so heavy they weighed upon his entire face.

You look like one of those bulldogs, Gilgamesh had teased him. No, no, that's too cutesy for the Great and Powerful Ikaris, Druig observed in amusement while mocking his title. He looks like a fish that's off and pissed.

"I've seen it, Gil." Ikaris finally spoke. "I know what he's plannin'."

London – 2024

Seated in Trafalgar Square, Druig was feeding dried pastry to a group of squawking and bitching pigeons. He'd given them half of the scone he'd gotten from M&S for a pound. The overnight dried out lot. The "gross" stuff that nobody else wanted. These humans were the only creatures on the planet that threw out perfectly good food. At least pigeons were grateful. "'Right, ya' got what y'wanted, ya' rats." He brought the rest of the scone up to his mouth and began to snack on the buttered bread.

The pigeons, seemingly disappointed with the lack of food, began to disperse and peck at various other crumbs left in the busy London square. Behind Druig, the National Gallery was decorated for Christmas. Pine roping had been twirled around the stone columns of the entryway, while silver baubles were carefully (and artfully) nestled within the evergreen branches. Long billowing canvas posters of Albrecht Dürer's Adoration of the Magi hung above the marble thresholds of the museum, showcasing the early modern work of the Renaissance artist. The yellowed image of a pale white baby Jesus seated on Mary's lap reached for a kneeling magi, who in turn offered that snow-white baby a gift of mir.

Druig smirked at the baby Jesus. "Wanker." He took another large bite of bread.

A flash of gold and red appeared before him, unseen and invisible to the naked human eye, the beautiful, beautiful Makkari appeared before Druig. Dressed in her familiar red leather, while her hair braided with subtle gold tinsel, it seemed the goddess of speed was also dressed up for the holidays.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go?" He slowly signed to the speedster. A sly suggestive smile pulled at the edges of his lips as he rose to his feet. He stood a precarious three or four inches taller than the tiny speedster, but that was just right. He could peer down into her lovely eyes just enough to make her grin.

Aye, there's that smile. The one he had been looking for. Wide and lovely, Makkari's grin radiated like a tiny star across her face. It pulled all her features up with her grin. Laugh lines were suddenly exposed, gentle curves and lines of her face that had been hidden, her smile revealed treasures within her expression. Sweet things that Druig wanted to look at forever.

"I was with Thena." The goddess told him. Her eyes flicked down to the pigeons that seemed to be staging a coup against Druig, pecking at his ratty Converse. She shifted her eyes back to Druig, lifting an eyebrow out of amused curiosity.

"Yeh, well, apparently, cakes, when ya' feed bleedin' pigeons two-day old pasty, they get pissed when y'stop." He grunted with annoyance, kicking at some pesky grey birds as they waddled around his feet.

Makkari laughed at his frustration. She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek while his eyes were still downcast at the pigeons. At the slightest feel of her touch, he stopped immediately with his foolin' about. Nothing was worth more than her attention. Sure, you might say he was well and mighty whipped for the pretty little speedster in the red leather jacket, but he didn't much care. She was worth all that.

That pretty smile of hers remained on her face as she looked at him. She leaned up on her tiptoes, getting closer to his face, her lips mere inches from his. Druig's heart did a somersault in midair as the woman he had loved for millenniums peered into his face. Suddenly, and with a rather cheeky grin, she stuck one hand over his lips, signing short-handed with her other for, "I didn't know your only friends were pigeons." Her mouth dropped open in amusement as a wicked little sound of joy escaped before she buried her face in his chest, shaking with hidden laughter.

"Oi! Makkari, y're a brutal mistress." Druig exclaimed in amused surprise, striking his heart in an attempt to feign his pain.

Peeking up from his chest with that lovely smile of hers, she winked at him. Right. How could he ever remotely stay mad at a face like that? He cupped her cheeks in between his hands, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. "Cheeky little goddess y'are." He whispered to her and her alone.

"Makkari, before this moment goes and leaves us, I jus' want to tell ya', I—" Druig's words froze in place. His spine sharpened and straightened as his hands tightened on Makkari's shoulders. His breath hitched in his throat. He grunted in pain as he collapsed against the speed goddess, his head pulsing with absolute agony. "Darlin'," his breath shook as he tried to speak to her, "somethin's buzzin' in me head."

Makkari zipped back, pulling away just enough to catch the other eternal in her arms. Her brow furrowed in worry as her hands moved to his forehead. The place of his power. What's wrong? She searched his face. Panic was seeping into her expression then. The pain on Druig's face was new. He was impervious to pain, intolerable to showing it.

"Makkari." Druig grabbed her hands. "Makkari, ya've got to get out of 'ere. I can feel it. It's comin'." His eyes filled with tears. "It's comin.'" He looked to the sky slowly with his eyes shifting to the sun that was meagerly peeking through the clouds. His skin was glowing. Dissolving, dismantling. He was a mere ghost, translucent in her hands. "Cakes," he reached up with the last of his strength to cup her cheek as she had cupped his earlier, "ya've got to run."

A flash of light and rainbow sparks popped in between Makkari's arms. Druig was gone. Her lungs heaved in panic as she looked around, searching for the other eternal. Where is he? Her eyes frantically shifted to the onlooking crowds who had caught sight of the glowing man. She could see their lips moving, feel the vibrations of their voices. The subtle whispers of their tongues and mouths oozing with sound. She could feel it in her chest.

He's not here.

Makkari. Ya've got to run.

And she did.